I stand before him. Wounded, the revolver he held now rests on his stomach. It's drenched in his own blood, corroding its mechanisms to fire.
The words he mutters to me are all drained out. I can't listen to him. The man who lays down in front of me, I feel this relentless flow that's driving me insane, I can't move until I am certain he stays dead. I am scared.
Yet, it's pacifying. For the first time, this state of solitude, created a sense of satisfaction. Why was I so scared? Why was I so worried about my friends? They held me back. Was I meant to be alone in this job? Possibly. So many questions I can answer but I can't prioritize which one to pick for myself.
As to why I can't? This man all of a sudden clouds my inner thoughts, it's nothing but noises. He will not shut the fuck up. He knows he's defeated, so why be so courageous, oh so brave? But then, my mind became clear, and I get to hear his final words. So terrible of me to have ears.
"You are no different than me." He says. He starts coughing, "But the difference between you and I... is that you know what you have always wanted. To be alone."
I hear nothing but false claims. Who is he to talk down about who I am? What makes him right? If he was wrong, what makes him wrong?
But I will not hold your words for long. There is misery in every word you speak.
Allow me to kneel. Let the flat side of my iron end yours truly. Let my stored burdens engrave on your skull. Be nothing to me.